type of poem

day is done
when i was broke in london
one by one, like leaves from a tree
earth travails
this ancient silver bowl of mine
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
little gate was reached at last
mysterious night
in your arms was still delight
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
all those treasures that lie
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead